Judgement
by Winter's Lightning
Summary: Demyx stands quietly on the stage, staring out at the destruction. Zexion prepares for the backlash of saving a witness. Zemyx. Coldplay: “Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry… You don't know how lovely you are”


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kingdom Hearts.

**Pairings:** Demyx/Zexion

Inspired by this pic: h t t p : / / q i n n i . d e v i a n t a r t . c o m / a r t / T h e - A s s a s s i n - 7 5 6 9 6 8 3 1

Aimee Mann (Coldplay Cover): The Scientist (Nobody Said It Was Easy)

"_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry… You don't know how lovely you are"_

Dust lingered in the glare of the stage lights, sharp lines that cut through the darkness of the hall, illuminating the stage, and the two lonely figures that took its centre.

Demyx turned slowly to face the audience. They sat still and silent, eyes closed. For a moment, he looked past the ragged holes scattered across immaculate suits, the dark stains slowly spreading across ball gowns made of rich velvet and satin, and could almost believe they were sleeping.

A woman in the front row caught his eye. He'd noticed her earlier. Her smile had been infectious. Holding the hand of the handsome young man beside her, eyes dancing across the orchestra as music swelled, notes sewing together in the air, and spiralling towards the ornate ceiling. Now, her head rested his shoulder, parted lips stained the same red as the delicate splashes gracing porcelain skin and priceless diamonds.

Gentle music flowed from speakers around the room, background listening for an intermission that would never end. A violin's mournful solo drifted through the air, adding to the surreal sense of peace that hung in the stillness.

Demyx looked down at the blood staining his own tuxedo, and tried not to wonder how so much destruction could be caused by one man, with the face of an angel.

Zexion shrugged off his heavy jacket. Now that his cover was blown, it would only slow him down, and he needed to do something about the wound in his side. He crouched with a wince, already feeling the effects of blood loss. The silence buzzed in his ears, and his actions were becoming slow. A fatal handicap at this stage of the game.

His limbs were heavy, cumbersome, that would weaken his aim. The cold seeping into his bones was easily ignored. Numb fingers and lips unimportant in the wake of the dark spots clouding his vision. With his sight compromised, the chances of getting out of here alive were looking slim. He raised his eyes to the figure staring out at the crowd, a familiar silhouette etched against the glare of the spotlight. He couldn't think about Demyx right now. The look on his face when he'd seen the truth. How in the months leading up to this hit, wrapped in sunshine smiles and easy laughter, he'd felt almost human.

But there was no place for humanity in his line of work. Emotions and mercy were as good as a death sentence.

A fact already proven by the blood soaking through his shirt.

He rolled up his sleeves, revealing two secret holsters strapped to his forearms. Pulling a knife free, he began to cut away at his shirt. A loud rip echoed through the silence, and Demyx turned to stare with blank eyes at the man he thought he knew.

Tearing a length of fabric from his ruined shirt, Zexion pressed it against his side. Mopping up some of the blood, he evaluated the damage. Clean shot. Straight through. No shrapnel, that was good. No vitals taken down. He almost smiled. After a rookie mistake like that he almost deserved death. Saving a witness, what was he thinking? His vision swam, but it didn't matter. However this played out, it would all be over soon.

A shadow fell over him. Demyx's face was a mask of shock. Pupils dilated, eyes unfocused, he looked straight through Zexion. Past the slim, delicate fingers pressed against blood soaked cloth, dark liquid welling through the fabric, the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, the gun resting in his lap… and tried to understand how this could be the same quiet violinist he'd watched with a smile so many nights before.

Zexion made sure to keep his breathing calm and even. Panic would only lead to death. For the both of them. Gritting his teeth, he tightened the makeshift bandage around his waist. His mind screamed at him, agony searing through his nerves. He blocked out thoughts of peace, knowing too well the danger of the soft, reasonable voice telling him it would be so simple to just lie down… give in… that the end was inevitable. Acceptance was the first step towards defeat, and he had someone to protect.

Countless lives taken, endless missions executed with brutal efficiency… a flawless track record now up in flames. One moment of spontaneity in a lifetime of meticulous calculations. One mistake... But even now, with Xemnas' men on the way, he knew he'd do it again.

One superior agent down, one witness still alive. Staring down at him with those big blue eyes, too lost in this world of violence to even cry. Zexion wondered if he'd ever smile again, or if the lies he'd been told had changed his face forever.

"Is everyone… are we the only… "

Demyx's voice was barely a whisper. Zexion pulled a magazine from the ammunition pouch strapped to his belt, offering no answer as he ejected the empty cartridge, and slammed the fresh one into place with the heel of his hand. He didn't even look at the gun, hands moving with a practiced certainty that reminded Demyx of the precision with which he played the violin. He had always felt clumsy in comparison. Foot tapping out the rhythm of each piece, gaze shifting from complex patterns of notes to the conductor, the lights, the audience… taking everything in with a childlike wonder that never seemed to fade. Zexion always played with his eyes closed, every note memorised, looking so peaceful Demyx was sure his heart was breaking.

Blood smeared against a pale cheek, mused silver hair hanging messily over calm, calculating eyes that glittered in the light. Demyx thought he had never seen anything so cold, or so beautiful.

Racking the slide back, a single round clattered to the ground. Satisfied, Zexion tucked the gun into his belt, and rose unsteadily to his feet. Pain ripped through him, and the torn shirt did little to slow the bleeding, but it would have to do for now. The Organisation would already be on the way. They needed cover.

"Follow me."

Demyx reached out, and Zexion watched as he _almost_tugged at his arm. The old Dem would have. He would have slung an arm around his shoulders, begging for answers, '_pretty please with a cherry on top_', brazenly ignoring the glares and half hearted elbows sent his way. But that was before, when Zexion was just another part of the Orchestra, leading the strings through the melodies Demyx lived for.

"Zex… are they all – did you – " He choked on his words, trying to make sense of the sudden expanse of death surrounding him.

Searching through the rubble and scattered bodies littering the stage, Zexion located his violin case, and opened it with a click.

"They're dead."

He didn't waste his breath on explanations. There was no time for excuses, no chance of forgiveness. Even with the lines blurred, necessary evil was still a vicious, messy business. He doubted Demyx would ever come close to seeing him as a friend again, and in some ways, maybe that was for the best.

The violin case was lined in red velvet. Zexion pocketed the grenades in the hidden compartments, and began piecing together the parts of a small, but efficient machine gun. The Organisation thought he only had the shrapnel bomb and his regulation handgun, but he wasn't called The Cloaked Schemer for nothing. His hands stilled as Demyx asked quietly "Why aren't I?"

By all means, when Xaldin arrived, that should have been the end of it. His job was to take out all witnesses, clean up any living evidence of Zexion's work. He'd tried to continue as planned – Xehanort was dead, along with dozens of his higher tier henchmen, and countless innocent bystanders caught in the blast – but then he heard Demyx running through hallways, screaming his name, voice horse with fear… Running straight past the exit doors , not even trying to get away… looking for him. Lost in Hell, and somehow _worried_for the demon who put him there.

He heard the distant click of a gun being reloaded, as familiar to him as his heartbeat. He imagined Xaldin calmly raising his magnum, taking aim, and his body moved before his analytical mind could catch up to the consequences. He found himself darting into the line of fire, pumping four rounds into his partner's chest with pinpoint accuracy, as Demyx's scream tore through the hallway.

"I told you to take the day off." Zexion raised the lightweight machine gun onto his shoulder, scanning the balconies for tactical advantages. He wished he'd thought to pack his sniper rifle, or at least his silencer. One shot and their position would be obvious. But this was never meant to be a stealth mission, not after the initial takedown.

"I thought you were joking."

Xigbar would bring the big guns. Axel was on leave, but that was no guarantee that they wouldn't just burn the place to ash. Once they found out Xaldin was down, they'd probably nuke the whole damn building into the ground.

Demyx came to stand next to Zexion. Spiked hair coated in dust, brows furrowed.

Zexion waited for him to get angry. Demand to know why so many people had to die, how he could do such terrible things… he waited to be called a monster, for the sweet, kind man beside him to run away and never look back.

"Zex… why did you take that bullet for me?"

He waited for fear, rejection, hate. Instead, Demyx just peered closer, eyes questioning.

"Why would you do that? You… you shot that guy."

A distant noise proclaimed the arrival of The Organisation. They were already here. Zexion tensed, analytical mind working furiously to find something, _anything_ that might save them. Alone, Demyx was as good as dead. Any witness found still breathing would be executed on the spot.

Moving off-stage, Zexion noted the trail of fresh blood he left behind. Perfect. Even uninjured, he wasn't sure his skills would have been enough, and now they had a big red arrow pointing out their hiding spot.

Demyx followed him, teeth worrying at his lower lip.

"He was one of yours, right? Won't you get into trouble?" Killing a superior agent was seen as a reckless act of insubordination. The penalty was death.

The auditorium doors opened with a bang, and a slim figure was outlined in the light.

"Zexeeey! _Come out, come out, wherever you are!_" A high pitched laugh echoed through the hall. _Larxene._

"Demyx. Get behind me."

His mind flashed through scenarios, formulating and rejecting a thousand ideas in an instant. Most of them had such a low probability of success that under normal circumstances he wouldn't even consider them.

Making his decision, he whispered "Stay hidden." and placed the machine gun carefully in Demyx's hands. "If things go badly, I want you to take this and run." He pressed a hand softly against Demyx's lips as he began to protest. "There will be men at the doors." Demyx held the gun to his chest, eyes wide. "You have to take them out first... They won't hesitate to kill you. Do you understand?"

Demyx blinked away tears, eyes pleading '_Don't leave me._'

Zexion leaned closer, as precious seconds trickled by. "Promise me."

Tugging at his friend's wrist, Demyx shook his head furiously. Zexion had put himself in danger trying to protect him… they had to stick together.

Zexion closed his eyes, a half smile playing on his lips. "There's no time." He murmured. "No heroics. I can't fight while worrying about you."

He pressed their foreheads together, heart twisting at the thought of what could have been. "You owe me nothing... " Opening his eyes, he faced Demyx's stare. Terrified, but defiant. Fiercely loyal, even as death wrapped close around them. Zexion thought it might be the most bittersweet sight in the whole world.

"…but I owe you everything." He pressed a kiss to the hand still resting against Demyx's lips, and drew away.

"Stay here."

Taking a deep breath, he left Demyx behind the curtains, and strode out into the open. Larxene was perched, legs crossed, on the second story balcony rail, precision throwing knives held loosely in each hand. Countless more were secured to her belt, and no doubt hidden in the various pockets of her long black coat.

"Ah, Number 6." She twirled the slim blades in her hands absently.

His best option was to take her out silently. Any noise would draw the rest of The Organisation. Zexion knew that logically, as a knife user, Larxene was the perfect member to stumble upon them… but looking at her sadistic smirk, he couldn't quite believe it.

Stance casual, he leaned against the far wall of the stage, knowing the attempt to disguise his fatigue as nonchalance was laughable. It was impossible to miss the ragged, bloody mess masquerading as his shirt.

"You're wounded."

"Xaldin shot me. He was protecting a hostage. I took care of it."

Larxene tapped her chin thoughtfully with the tip of a knife. "Is that so?" Lightning fast, her arm shot out. Zexion kept his face neutral as a shallow cut opened on his cheek, and the knife embedded itself in the wall next to his head. A new blade was in her hand before he could even blink.

"Come on Zexy, I know you better than that. You'd never take Xal head on, you're too underhanded for that… unless something made you careless…" Her eyes drifted towards where Demyx was hiding.

Zexion drew a knife from the straps on his forearm, and Larxene's eyes gleamed. She loved games.

Tossing the knife in his hand, Zexion tested its weight, and caught the handle firmly. Pushing away from the wall, he fought against his exhaustion, clearing his mind of everything but the savage killer before him.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and he welcomed it. It would numb the pain. Narrowing his eyes, he aimed for her heart.

It didn't hit home. He hadn't expected it to. Laughing, she span away from his weapon, long coat swirling around her, revealing lines of small daggers strapped to her calves. She cooed in delight. "Oooh, _sloppy_ Zexy! Unlike you!"

If she was that easy to kill, she wouldn't be the only assassin to have a higher kill record than Xemnas himself. Sometimes Zexion wondered how many of those hits were paid, and how many were for sport.

Dropping down from the balcony with a predator's easy grace, she slowly began to make her way towards the stage.

"_Tut, tut_, Zexy. Killing a Superior, shame on you." Her smile widened. "Still, gives me an excuse. Just between you and me, I've always wanted to give it a try."

Fresh pain shot through him, and he grasped the handle jutting out of his shoulder. Hissing through his teeth, he pulled it free, fingers slipping on warm blood and smooth steel. Red drenched his sleeve, flowed over his fingers and dripped onto the stage in a steady pulse. This was _not_ going well. Unconsciousness was creeping over him. He guessed he had about two minutes before his legs gave out completely. He flung her own knife back at her with a grimace. She leaned casually to the side, and it shot harmlessly past her face.

At least his fingers were still moving. He curled his hand around the grenade in his pocket. Larxene could block knives and dodge bullets like they were nothing. It was time to give her something even she couldn't avoid. After all, what good was silence if they ended up dead anyway?

He held his second blade over his chest… Larxene liked aiming for the heart.

Zexion watched the flash of steel in her hands. He had his plan, now all he needed was an opening. He heard a movement to his left, and his stomach clenched in fear. _No!_

Demyx ran out onto the stage, semi automatic clutched in shaking hands.

"Stop it! Just leave us alone!"

If anything, Larxene looked even more overjoyed. She clasped her hands together, looking utterly delighted.

"Is this the one? Oh how _adorable!_ He's trying to _save_ you!"

His aim was off by a good meter, and his hands were unsteady… but he faced Larxene's sneer head on, eyes set in grim determination. More than most could manage, with or without a knowledge of weapons.

But that didn't change the fact that the stupid, brave idiot was going to die after all, and Zexion's sacrifice would be for nothing.

"Demyx, what are you _doing?_ Get outof here!"

"I might not know everything that's going on here, but you saved me. I couldn't just leave you!" He licked his lips, and adjusted his grip on the gun. "I'm not much of a fighter, but I'm no coward!"

Zexion's heart swelled. Even as he watched Larxene, trained eyes searching carefully for the perfect moment to strike, a soft smile came to rest on his face. Too damn loyal… too good for this world.

"Zexion, _please._" Larxene gestured towards Demyx with the tip of a blade. "This is just _insulting._" Her voice turned cold. "Silly boy. We're out of your league."

"I don't care. He saved me… whatever happens, we go down together."

Zexion barely dared to breathe. In his pocket, he primed a grenade, holding down the safety lever, and watching, _waiting._

Larxene's smile was as sharp as the knives she carried. "Works for me." She drew an arm back, and for a moment, all she focused on was Demyx, and his beating heart.

Zexion hurled the grenade at Larxene, at the same time dropping his knife and drawing his handgun from his belt. He took aim and pulled the trigger in a single fluid movement. Panic flashed across Larxene's face an instant before the explosion. She lashed out with a snarl, and Zexion ignored the dull thud he felt at his chest. He followed the grenade with a full clip of bullets, and a scream cut through the flames and smoke. He knew the others would have heard the blast. Turning towards Demyx, he re-loaded his gun with a click. They had to run.

Demyx was staring at him, machine gun lying forgotten on the ground, eyes fixed on his chest. Zexion reached out as the world tilted underneath him.

"Zexion!"

He didn't feel the impact of his fall, and he supposed that should worry him, but Demyx was kneeling over him, pushing his fringe out of his eyes, and staring down with those big blue eyes.

"Demyx." He gasped. His chest felt strangely heavy. "Is she dead?"

Warm tears splashed down onto his face.

"You got her, Zex."

"Good."

He coughed, tasting blood. Glancing down, he saw Larxene's knife buried in his chest. She'd punctured a lung, and he was dying… he could feel it.

"Siax will be at the doors. The others will come here." Demyx shook his head, squeezing Zexion's hand like it would somehow bring him back from the edge of death.

"Take this." Trembling fingers passed him the handgun. "Run." Blood trickled in a slow line from the side of his mouth.

"No. This time, Zex, I'll protect _you._" He watched as Demyx pointed the gun towards the main doors, grip all wrong, safety on, and smiled fondly.

"It's too late for me, Dem."

"I'm not leaving." Demyx placed the gun beside them, lifting Zexion's head gently into his lap. "We both know I have no chance… I think I'd rather stay here." He stroked at silver hair absently.

"Do you think there'll be music in heaven, Zex?"

Zexion reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. "If you're there."

"Maybe we can play together again when we get there."

Zexion rolled his head to the side, looking into the staring eyes of the people he'd killed. "I don't think that's where I'm headed, Dem."

"I don't know. You look like an angel to me." Demyx hummed to himself. "I'll have a word with the big guy. If he hears you play, I'm sure he'll make an exception."

Soon they would be two more nameless corpses, just two more in the thousands already a part of the overnight massacre. Zexion thought the worst part was that nobody would ever know how truly brave Demyx really was.

"It wasn't supposed to end this way." He shivered, cold setting into his body. "The plan was perfect."

Demyx ran a thumb along his cheek. "What went wrong?"

"I met you."

Time stretched out, unhurried and endless, as if the world had stopped to give them their goodbye.

"You know, it's almost funny." Zexion drew a hand in front of his face. It was shaking, caked in blood and dust. "I always hated getting my hands dirty." He choked out a laugh, slowly drowning in his own blood.

He hadn't even had a chance to use the machine gun, he thought. What a waste. It was a beautiful model. It appeared he wouldn't be going out in a blaze of glory, raining bullets, death and bits of plaster on his enemies.

But somehow this seemed more fitting. Lying quietly in a layer of dust, staring at the high, decretive ceiling, blood spreading out either side of him like dark red wings on the wooden stage. Haunting music still played softly through the speakers, and Demyx's hand was warm over his.

The others would be there soon, but he would be gone before then.

"Demyx…" he murmured, shallow breaths barely audible over the distant music. "I'm so sorry."

Demyx rubbed soothing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb.

"That's ok, Zex." He smiled, and Zexion hoped that wherever he went, he could see it again. He blinked away the blackness creeping in from the edges of his vision. Even as the world blurred around him, Demyx's eyes were still the _perfect_shade of green.

The distant bang of doors being flung open went un-noticed. Demyx brushed a strand of Zexion's hair out of his eyes, and watched blood pool around his beautiful angel face, singing a half forgotten lullaby under his breath.


End file.
